She gave him a determined nod.
“Well, then,” he sighed, scraping a hand back through his hair, “seeing as you’re my girlfriend, and since I owe you a meal, how about I take you to dinner. Do you like Indian?”
“I don’t know.” She balled the bit of pink thong in one hand as she gave him a careful smile. “I’d like to shower first.”
Dicky crouched to pick up his cigarettes. “You first, then. I’ll go in after you.” Finally lighting a cigarette, he followed her backside with his eyes as she moved toward the bathroom.
He wanted to feel that trim little ass tucked into his groin. He wanted to fuck her brutally, and make love to her gently, all at the same time. He nodded to himself as he blew out a long thread of smoke. That first impulse didn’t surprise him in the least. The second one was a bit of a stunner.
After dinner, he promised himself.
Dicky rolled his fatigued shoulders. Not having slept the night before, he was tired. Dead tired. He considered the warm, dry double bed with longing anticipation.
* * * * *
When they returned to the room after eating, Julie slipped into the bathroom to brush her teeth. She left the door slightly ajar. From the corner of her eye, she watched Dicky. He kicked off his unlaced boots and let his coat slide off his shoulders to the floor. His jeans followed. Grabbing the bottom of his T-shirt, he stretched and dragged it over his head. As the crumpled fabric dropped from his fingers, he threw himself on the bed.
When Julie stepped out of the bathroom, he was asleep.
Slowly, she circled the bed.
Dicky’s slim, lean body, knotted with hard stretches of muscle, was sprawled against white sheets.
He was a work of art, like some sensual painting cut with a painter’s knife on a warm canvas. All burnt sienna and raw umber tempered with flesh tones. Hard-edged and sensual—a contradictory composition of light and dark. Straight strips of rich, dark auburn hair were flung across the pillow on which his head rested. His spiky lashes fenced his eyelids like dark, sharp tears.
One of his knees was bent and raised, and she had to go to his side of the bed to view what lay beyond his thigh. Creeping in that direction, she tipped her head as her eyes sucked up to the tangle of rusty curls between his legs and the length of flesh languishing in the rust. Frowning slightly, she skimmed his body with her eyes then returned them to gaze at his slack penis. She hadn’t seen a man naked before this morning but, from the bits she’d picked up in her observations of Greek art, she wouldn’t have guessed there’d be so much.
As she watched him, her hands smoothed down over her buttocks, naked and divided by the string of thong between her cheeks. Leaning over him to turn off the light on the wall, Julie pulled off her T-shirt, her thong, and got into bed with Dicky Evans.
Chapter Four
Morning woke Dicky to find the small slip of a woman naked beside him. The fact that she had stripped for him told him a lot about what she wanted, what she expected and what she obviously hoped for. He’d just been given a free ticket with full admission to all rides.
She was a determined little thing. Didn’t know what was good for her, but he had to admire her spunk.
Raising himself on one elbow, Dicky gazed down on her small angelic face. Her brown eyelashes rested on pale cheeks, her small lips were full, fresh, pale pink and pouty. Those lips were just asking for it. He put a hand on the other side of her body and lowered his lips to the swell of her mouth. Opening his mouth, he scraped his bottom lip over hers, hovered an instant near her lips and repeated the action, slowly at first. Then at an increasing tempo as his bottom lip moved over hers with steady, accelerating insistence to match the flogging of his heart, of his breath. By the time she opened her eyes, his body was moving lightly against her side, his heart was surging painfully in his chest, his cock pulsing against the smooth, warm skin of her thigh. As he slid a thumb over the bottom, curving moon of her small breast, his voice was a rush of breath.
“When I’m touching you, I feel like…I’m whispering in church or performing some other sort of irreverence. In my school, when I went to school, there stood a small Mary on a pedestal just inside the main doors. She must have been fairly old because she was carved out of ivory, warm to the touch and smooth as pudding. I loved that Mary, worshiped that Mary. When I was skiving off, which was most of the time, I’d stop on my way out the school doors. I had to stop, couldn’t help myself.
“I’d run my hands up the sleek, rutted folds of her robe and over the small round nubs that were her breasts. She had a face like an angel.” Dicky watched the girl’s face, his eyes moving from her mouth, to her eyes, then to the golden hair that haloed her head on the white pillow. “Sister Catherine caught me at it one day. Mind you, it wasn’t the first time I’d been caught. I was expelled.” Dicky brushed his lips across her mouth. “I don’t know if it was because I was truant or because I was…worshiping Mary. Either way, I was told to pack up and leave. I went straight to the library and nicked all my favorite books—as many as would fit in my schoolbag.”
“How old were you?”
“Twelve.” He ignored the flicker of pity in her eyes. “I didn’t mind. It was fucking rubbish—school.”
“What books did you take?” was her next question.
He shrugged one shoulder. “I don’t remember,” he lied.
“You never went back? To see the statue?”
“No.” Baring the rough edge of his improper teeth, he grinned down at her. “The sum of my education was—I learned young that women are nothing but trouble.”
A streak of light slashed through the curtains and fell in a stripe above the girl’s small nipples. “But soft,” he murmured. His eyes lowered, watching the strip of light curve to caress her sweet little tits. “What light through yonder window breaks? It is the east.” He nudged a pink nub with his full bottom lip. “And Juliet is the fucking sun.”
Slipping his arm beneath her, her pulled her to him, pulled her chest to curve into his mouth as he made love to her nipple with lips and tongue. When the pebbled surface was wet and glistening and a raw rose color, he moved to her other breast.
With his mouth loving her breasts, he slid his free hand down over her belly and fingered his way into her cleft where he found the tight slit of her entrance. As he rimmed the delicate entrance, he wondered how many others had worshiped at her temple. His chest tightened a little as he probed her opening with one finger.
As many women as he’d fingered in his lifetime, he couldn’t figure out why this girl felt so different. There was a strange first-time expectancy in her stillness. Her secret folds were rose-petal velvet, delicate to the touch of his hard fingers. Her demure little opening was barely damp with her sweet dewy essence. The fragile nub of her clitoris was tender and pure, as though made for this—his raw touch. The long precious line of her sex felt fresh and new, unexplored and waiting for his intrusion, waiting for him to claim the territory he fingered between her legs.
He wanted to taste her, to take his mouth to her sex, but he was eager to get on her and he preferred she wasn’t too wet. He was looking for a perfect fuck this morning and he liked a bit of drag on his cock when he got between a woman’s legs. “Are you ready for this, angel? Because you feel a bit small for me.”
Writhing beneath the intimate touch of his exploring finger, her words were breathless. “I’m ready.”
He couldn’t help but smile. The classy little American wanted it hard and fast in England. And he was hard. As hard and thick as he could ever remember being.
Pushing her legs apart, Dicky hoped she was small inside, and tight. Expertly, he slid her feet up on the sheets and bent her knees outward to admit him. Although she seemed stiff, a fine tremble shimmered through her body, a tremble he took for excitement. The idea that she shivered with anticipation for him caused his erection to tighten into a harder knot. With a hand beneath her, just above her buttocks at the small of her back, he spread his f
ingers so he could command her body and keep her firmly in position as he thrust against her, so he could bear down on her and bring her everything as he delivered his cock to the back of her cunt. Closing his eyes for the moment, he rasped out a hungry breath as he pushed into her. She was hot and damp and sweet and tight and—
Jesus Fucking Christ. Dicky’s withdrawal was quick and complete. Cock glistening, erect and primed, he stood to reach for her backpack. Dumping it on the bed, he slammed through the contents, searching for her identification.
Brushes, combs, small flat glossy boxes. Makeup. Toothbrush. A few pound notes. Papers.
Fuck.
She’d told him her ID had been lost on the ferry.
Dicky collapsed to sit on the bed. “How old are you?” He turned to glare at her.
“I’m not that young,” she explained swiftly, stumbling in her defensive search for words. “I’m twenty-one,” she added quickly.
Dicky eyes narrowed as he searched her face, trying to decide if she was telling the truth. She looked twenty-one. When her chin trembled, he realized her earlier shiver had probably been one of fear rather than anticipation.
“Jesus. You look twenty-one.” He shook his head. “So why are you still a virgin?” He’d heard of virgins, before. But he didn’t actually believe in them. Especially not American virgins.
She pulled her legs together as she nodded. “I told you. I’ve never had a boyfriend before.”
“Yeah? What’s wrong with you, then?”
“If I knew, I’d change it.”
He gave her a look of patent disbelief. “You could be…a fucking model.”
Her smile was small but genuine. “Thanks. But I’m not tall enough.”
“You know what I mean.”
She shook her head. “I’m not really pretty.”
He stared at her. “No, you’re not pretty,” he finally agreed. “You’re beautiful. You’re…like art,” he struggled with the idea. “You’re like a painting,” he finished. “A museum painting. In a gold frame.”
“Like a painting you’ve seen?”
“Maybe.”
He continued to stare at her a few seconds before shaking his head. “A lot of the old art—the museum art—is religious. Angels and Marys and such. You look like that,” he told her. “Beautiful. So, what’s wrong with you?” he repeated.
She sighed. “The guys I know—the guys who know me—aren’t interested. I don’t fit in. I’ve never fit in. The smart guys think I’m too outspoken. The rebels think I’m too smart. I’m sorry, Dicky. Are you…so much older than me? You don’t look that old.”
“I’m old enough. And I don’t know how old you are.”
“I told you. I’m twenty-one, Dicky. I just…got a late start. But a girl’s gotta start someplace,” she ventured shyly. “Do you have something against virgins?”
“I wouldn’t know,” he growled. “I’ve never had one.”
“Well, then,” she said softly. “It will be a first for both of us, won’t it?”
He scowled down at his penis. It had drooped a little, but not enough. With a groan of frustration, he stood suddenly. “No it won’t,” he gritted through his teeth as he paced into the tiny bathroom and slammed the door behind him.
Julie watched the closed door long enough to decide she didn’t want to be on this side of it. She didn’t want to be closed out. She wanted to be part of something. To take part in life. A life that had, so far, evaded her. And she didn’t want to be a virgin anymore.
She was aware that she made most of her peers uneasy, especially the guys. The cute math major she had crushed on last year was uncomfortable with her outspoken views. The Gothic dopehead who’d flirted with her had drifted away after he’d understood her command of current events.
The nerd had been nervous about what she’d say to him.
The Goth had worried about what he’d say to her.
She made men nervous. She tried to keep her mouth shut, but something always gave her away.
Her grades, maybe. She was at the top of her class.
Dicky didn’t give a damn either way. Every word he directed at her was spoken with a cool, indifferent confidence. Every gaze he sent her way was weighted with a hot, hard promise that just about consumed her in its outspoken hunger. She could have been a Nobel Laureate and he’d still make her feel both precious and desirable. Fragile beneath the shelter of his arm. Sexy under the heat of his gaze. She knew she was smart. She knew she was capable. She didn’t need Dicky for that. She needed him for everything else. She needed him to make her feel like a woman.
She wanted to belong—to him. To Dicky Evans. Even if it was only once. Even if it was just this time and never happened again. She let herself into the bathroom after she heard him draw the shower curtain. He started the water as she closed the door.
From behind the blue plastic curtain she could hear a rhythmic slap—of soap and water and naked skin. Steeling herself, she pulled the shower curtain open and stepped into the back of the enamel tub.
He turned to face her, his hand wrapped around his flushed and angry cock. His eyes were raw, contained elemental fury as he faced her.
“No,” he whispered in warning, just before his hands came up and pinned her shoulders against the cold tile wall. “No,” he repeated, as his head angled and wet spiky eyelashes brushed her cheek.
She lowered her eyes and watched his tongue come out of his mouth, opening her lips for his invasion.
His next “No” was a strangled cry in her mouth.
His tongue entered her mouth in a rough, heated thrust as his right hand whipped down behind her damp bottom and pulled the length of her thigh up beside his hip. Immediately, his knees bent and his left hand fed his cock between her legs, probing for her tender notch. Struggling to keep her balance, Julie found the tub edge and rested her foot on it. With a moan of gratitude, Dicky reached for her other leg and hiked it to the opposite side of the tub. Straightening his legs, he thrust between her legs several times, missing the mark in his eagerness to get inside her.
His lips broke from hers. His eyes burned into hers with demanding desperation. “Help me. Jesus, lass. Help me.”
His hand rushed to meet hers and steer her fingers to his cock. With his shaft wrapped in her small grip, she guided him through her slot to her opening. He thrust hard at the notch and she gasped as he entered her in a thick, spearing rush of pain.
He thrust again, coming up against her barrier. With his hands on the top of her thighs, he pushed her down on his shaft while he forced his way inside her. His rush of breath was harsh in her ears as he crushed into her. Apparently lost in need, he didn’t hear her muffled cry of pain as he flexed his knees and drove against her in a fury nothing short of helpless.
Clutching his slippery wet arms, Julie bit her bottom lip and held tight through the storm of his passion. Water beaded on his high cheekbones and gleamed like small diamonds scattered across his lashes. She followed his gaze down to where their bodies met, where his hips slashed up into the space between her spread legs. She felt him fill her more strongly than before, felt his thick shaft stretch tightly inside her.
Abruptly, he stilled as his cock started spilling into her. Alarmed, she returned her gaze to his.
His eyes held hers as though he’d never seen her before, with an expression of breath-holding wonder mixed with fearful awe. Closing his eyes, he put his lips gently against hers.
She figured it was over then. For him anyhow. But he stood, pressed up against her for a long moment, his lips just touching hers. “You shouldn’t have come in here,” he moaned against her lips, then drew back enough for her to see the reproach in his eyes. “You shouldn’t have come in here,” he repeated, as he started kissing her. “I didn’t want to do it like this. I didn’t want to do it…up against a wall. You deserve better than this. Than me. Your first man. Your first time.” Both his forearms rested on the tile wall as he held the back of her head in an attitude
of prayer. Tenderly, he pressed his lips in an irregular pattern over her face. Finally returning to her lips, he kissed her lightly then pulled her from the wall and turned her to stand beneath the shower’s spray of water.
“Are you all right?” he asked. Together, they watched a thin streak of red make a line down the inside of her leg. The water rushed down on them and Dicky angled his head over hers to deflect the spray. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I should have used a rubber. I’m clean but I should have used one. Are you going to be all right?” His dark eyes searched hers seriously.
She nodded, feeling a little proud and somehow warmed by the fact that she was his first virgin. “I’m all right. Only,” she returned his gaze, “I still want you, Dicky.”
A warm light leapt into his eyes. A look something like hope.
As before, Dicky’s hand slipped behind her and lifted her right leg to the tub’s edge. Unlike before, he went down on his knees before her.
With a thin bar of soap in his hand, he dragged his palms over her wet skin, worshiping the pillar of her straightened leg from thigh to ankle. He soaped up his hands and ran his slippery fingers between her legs, gliding through her pussy, one finger nudging through her folds all the way back to the swell of her cheeks, where he dragged his fingertip over the tight crimp of her ass. Gently, he shouldered her bent leg out of his way to press a kiss into the tender flesh of her inner thigh. Sliding both hands inside her thighs, he eased his thumbs either side of her sex to tug her pussy open. His bottom lip dropped as he canted his head back and opened his mouth over the glistening rose revealed wet between his thumbs. His tongue came out to slide between her puffy labia and his mouth moved up against her pussy as if drinking her in. Opening his mouth wide, he brought his lips closed as he dragged his tongue through her thickened folds.
Eventually finding a thick little point of hardness, he concentrated his lips at that location, softly moving his wet lips against her clitoris. Coaxing, prodding, brushing against it until he heard the girl’s muffled cry of anguish, until he felt her muscles tighten in her thighs and her legs spread a little more to allow him greater access. Her hands clutched at his hair and he pulled away to watch her. Her eyes were closed, her body straining. Reaching out his tongue to her, he slid it into the swollen pink lips and stroked.
In the Arms of Danger Page 4